The partners had worried not a little over the question of whether Crawford's name was legally Smith or Farmer. If it were Farmer and he must be so called in South Harniss, they feared the revival of the old scandal and all its miserable gossip. But when they asked Crawford he reassured them. “I consulted my lawyer about that,” he said. “My father's middle name was Smith; that is why he took it, I suppose. Edwin Smith is not so very different from Edgar Smith Farmer, shorter, that's all. He and my mother were married under the name of Smith. Mother never knew he had had another name. I was born Smith and christened Smith and my lawyer tells me that Smith I am. If there had been any question I should have petitioned to have the name changed.” So that question was settled and Shadrach and Zoeth felt easier because of it. “Zoeth,” observed Shadrach, after replying to his friend's remark concerning the name, “do you know what I kind of felt as if we'd ought to have had here this afternoon?” “No, Shadrach,” replied Zoeth, “I don't. What was it?” “Seemed to me we'd ought to had one of them music box chairs. I'd like to have put it under that Keith woman and seen her face when the Campbells started to come. Ho, ho!” “What in the world made you think of that?” demanded his partner. “Oh, I don't know. Thinkin' about Mary-'Gusta, I cal'late, set me to rememberin' how we fust met her and about Marcellus's funeral and all. That made me think of the chair, you see. I ain't thought of it afore for years.” Zoeth nodded. “Shadrach,” he said, “that was a blessed day for you and me, the day when we brought that child home in our old buggy. The Lord put her there, Shadrach.” “Well, I guess likely He did, maybe, in a way of speakin'. Does seem so, that's a fact.” “Our lives was pretty sot and narrow afore she came. She's changed everything.” “That's so. Hello! What's that noise? I declare if it ain't Isaiah liftin' up his voice in song! In a hymn tune! What do you think of that?” From the kitchen, above the rattle of dishes, Mr. Chase's nasal falsetto quavered shrilly: “There shall be showers of blessin's--” The Captain interrupted. “Hi, you--what's your name--Jennie Lind--come in here,” he hailed. Mr. Chase appeared, his arms dripping soapsuds. “What do you want, callin' me out of my name?” he demanded. “Want to know what started you singin' about blessin's? Fust I thought 'twas the weathervane squeakin'. What tuned you up, eh?” Isaiah looked rather foolish, but he grinned. “I was thinkin' about Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “You was, eh? Well, she's been a blessin' to us, there's no doubt about that.” “Indeed she has,” concurred Zoeth. But Isaiah had the final word. “Huh!” he declared, “she's more'n one blessin', she's a whole shower. That's what set me to singin' about 'em.” He departed for the kitchen once more, the falsetto rising triumphant: “There shall be showers of blessin's, Send 'em upon us, oh Lord!”